


The Weight of All These Lives

by Mary Reed (Mary_Reed)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, The night is dark and full of spoilers, Whoops spoilers for TLJ too, cursing, for Force Awakens specifically, my children, my darlings, my loves, these poor kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Reed/pseuds/Mary%20Reed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leia would cry alone, weeks after, when a surveillance photo of Kylo Ren surfaced on a resistance network. </p>
<p>She would not cry for her lost son again. </p>
<p>Han Solo would wait until he was alone to cry, too. He would cry at the helm of the Falcon when Chewie had left to take a break, in his bunk on cold nights when their ship was full of cargo and Han forgot for a moment that he had a family outside these walls, at the realization that the universe would not even allow him to keep his damned ship.</p>
<p>Luke would break and break until it drove him all the way across the galaxy, where the people he loved would be safe from him. </p>
<p>But for now, Han Solo and Leia Organa had just learned that their son had killed, had turned, had left. And they were reacting the only way they knew how: with anger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t care what the hell the damned Jedi code says, he never should’ve left!” bellowed Han.

“Anakin said to hell with the code, and look where that got him!” responded Leia vehemently. “I did what was right! And you know it.”

The memory of Vader striking Ben Kenobi down flashed behind Han’s eyes, the Sith’s form replaced with the memory of his son.

Both parents had buried their grief beneath a mask of anger, glaring at each other’s contorted faces like it would bring their son home. Like passing blame, pinning guilt on someone they could touch (not Luke, never Luke, who had never looked so breakable), would fix this mess. Han solved problems with his blaster and his wookie, Leia with strong commands and stronger armies. These things would not bring Ben back to the light.

Leia would cry alone, weeks later, when a surveillance photo of Kylo Ren surfaced on a resistance network. She would be alone, keeping watch on the softly glowing screens in their command center through the night (General Leia Organa was a leader, and leaders did not sleep; she was also a mother, and mothers who have lost their children do not sleep, either). C3PO would notice, would move to help, and she would silently flip off his switch. He would pretend he didn’t know it had been her, blame it loudly on a malfunction and insist on a check-up, because some things were worth forgetting and 3PO trusted his Skywalkers to know which things those were. She would not cry for her lost son again.

Han Solo would wait until he was alone to cry, too. He would cry at the helm of the Falcon when Chewie had left to take a break, in his bunk on cold nights when their ship was full of cargo and Han forgot for a moment that he had a family outside these walls, at the realization that the universe would not even allow him to keep his damned ship. Sometimes, Chewbacca would pretend he did not see, would delay his return from the bathroom to allow Han time to breath.

Sometimes, he walked in as soon as he heard Han’s hitching breath, and wrapped him in a furry, back-breaking embrace. Han would say something sarcastic, laugh brokenly, and pretend he was not leaning into the hug like it could dampen the pain.

Chewbacca had lost something like a nephew, something like a son, when Ben slaughtered every last student of Luke’s Jedi flock, but the soft wookie had always found comfort in supporting others. He was Han’s rock, and he would be strong for his best friend, his brother, no matter how his chest ached when he remembered the way little Ben’s hand felt in his.

But for now, Han Solo and Leia Organa had just learned that their son had killed, had turned, had left. And they were reacting the only way they knew how: with anger.

In the corner, Luke Skywalker was drowning. He saw ash, pain, screaming civilians and a face he had known since it had entered this world. It was contorted, not in anger, but in fear. Little Ben Solo could pretend he was angry all he liked; Luke could _feel_ how scared he was. His mother would see it in the set of his hunched shoulders, the lines hardening on his young face, but Luke reached out with the force and felt it, alarming and bright and overpowering.

It was not an excuse, but it was a reason.

There was still blood on his metallic hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at it. His hands didn’t shake, and his face was smooth as stone, but his eyes never left that stain. It was not his blood, nor was it blood he had spilled. He felt responsible for it all the same.

“Look, I’ve never understood this Jedi Force shit, and I don’t believe that it took our Ben. I just don’t.” Han looked stubbornly at his wife, daring her to challenge this tenuous assertion.

“Funny how that doesn’t change what happened. He killed people, Han. Innocents. Whoever our son was, he’s not the same now.” There was pain in Leia’s voice now, overlaid with ironclad resolve.

“You don’t get to decide that, Princess,” came the sardonic reply.

“What would you have me do, Han? Go running after him? Do you think I haven’t already considered the options?”

“I think you look at him and see a lost cause, an _acceptable loss_.” There was venom in Han’s voice, and for a moment Leia flinched at the accusation.

“Our son will never be an acceptable loss, you bastard, but I’m not going to send more people to die. He made his choice.” Her voice hardened with every word. “We couldn’t stop it in time, and now we have to live with this.”

“Yeah, about that. If you can ‘sense’ things, if you can feel emotions, how the hell did you not see this coming? You let this happen, Leia!” spat Han. Guilt flashed across his face as pain flickered on Leia’s. It was soon replaced by a stony grimace. Leia opened her mouth to retort, when a sound came from the corner where Luke sat, abandoned and looking so very small.

“It looks like Vader’s hand.” Luke’s soft voice echoed out of his corner, startling the feuding couple.

“Luke?” Leia snapped, turning to her brother.

“It looks like Vader’s hand. The skin, it-it burned off in the fire. Vader’s looked like this too.” His face was blank and pale.

“Hey, kid-“ started Han.

“You know, I wondered if we should’ve told him about Vader. He asked, and I thought he deserved the truth. I wanted the truth, when I started…”

“Luke, this isn’t your fault,” said Leia. “You couldn’t have known, nobody could’ve.”

“But I was his mentor, his guide, wasn’t I?” Pain was beginning to seep into the edges of his voice, his face, the set of his hands. “He was curious about his past, and when he came to me and found nothing, he went looking elsewhere. And he found everything he needed to know about Vader. I know I look like him. I’ve seen pictures of Anakin, from before…” Luke’s voice trailed off, and for a moment he went back to staring at his hands. He rotated the mechanical one slowly, studying every piece of it with intense concentration.

“But I could never match his rage. His fear. I loved Ben, but I couldn’t understand him. Not the way Vader could’ve. He went looking for someone to believe in, looked to me, and found disappointment.”

The couple fell silent, then. Something passed between them, an unspoken understanding that Luke was the best of them. That he was the purest, that he was the only one who must remain blameless through all of this, no matter the truth. That this weight could not fall on his shoulders, still so thin after all these years.

“Luke, we don’t blame you. No one blames you. And Ben was never mad at you; you have to know that.” Leia’s voice was pleading.

“I don’t know anything, Leia. Least of all how to train a Jedi.” He stood then, walked slowly towards the doorway.

“Kid where the hell are you going?” asked Han.

“I’m a danger to everyone, I can’t be allowed to train anymore. I have to leave.”

“Luke, don’t go. Not now.” Leia flinched at the desperation in her voice.

“I love you both,” he said. “Take care of each other.” With that, Luke’s hunched form disappeared around the corner.

 

Leia would not see him again for long, lonely decades.

 

Han would not see him again at all.


	2. Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, a former stormtrooper was learning that everyone in the resistance had a Rey they were looking out for. 
> 
> Somewhere, the favorite son of the rebellion stood in opposition to its greatest general for the good of its people. 
> 
> Just outside, a girl was forging a connection she would not die for with a boy in so much pain.
> 
> But here, in the warmth of the first home that ever sat just right on his freckled shoulders, all Luke could think was that he'd never asked Han what his favorite color was. 
> 
>  
> 
> Because TLJ was a bunch of different kinds of nonsense and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I know I'm mad that Luke didn't get to mourn for Han like he deserved.

Luke asked Chewie where Han was, and the wookie froze. Luke didn't need the force to understand what that meant; he felt it deep in his gut, a punch that knocked the wind out of him all at once. The girl was holding back tears, her face a mask of grief and defiant with it.

Everything about her was bright, even with the force and its universe on mute. Halfway across the galaxy Leia had gone breathless in her presence for the first time, this girl so overwhelmingly like her brother, but here Luke had nothing but his five senses. (It was enough).

Luke vanished for 12 straight hours. He left his young sort-of charge to figure out how to occupy her time, stealing away into the secrets of an island he knew better than anyone. 

After the 12th hour, when he'd gathered more wood than he could keep dry through the rainiest seasons and hunted more meat than would stay unspoiled before he ate it, he finally caved and crept toward the Millenium Falcon. Her worn gray shielding and creaking doors welcomed him with a grumpy old man's begrudging affection; he wondered if Han had been like that, towards the end. 

He tried to be quiet in case the girl had climbed back aboard (she hadn't), or Chewie was sleeping inside (he wasn't), but he still made enough noise to rouse the droid settled in the common area of the Falcon. 

"R2," he said, his voice rough with disuse and grief and 20 long years of useless penance. His droid (his _droid_ ) beeped profanity in warbled binary and Luke laughed despite himself. It had been so long since he'd laughed, and here with his best friend he cackled until tears spilled from his eyes and he was breathless with it.

He laughed until he wasn't laughing anymore, until he was breathless with grief once again, arms wrapped around his body like he could pull the universe back together if he squeezed hard enough. He sobbed in the belly of Han Solo's ship,  _it would always be Han Solo's ship_ he couldn't help but think, and he finally allowed himself to drown beneath the weight of an entire life lost. 

Somewhere, a former stormtrooper was learning that everyone in the resistance had a Rey they were looking out for.

Somewhere, the favorite son of the rebellion stood in opposition to its greatest general for the good of its people.

Just outside, a girl was forging a connection she would not die for with a boy in so much pain.

But here, in the warmth of the first home that ever sat just right on his freckled shoulders, all Luke could think as he fell apart was that he'd never asked Han what his favorite color was. He'd never found out what his favorite food was, what his mother had been like, why he'd come back that day at the Death Star when Luke had felt alive for the very first time.

Did Leia know? But he couldn't think of Leia, her fiery eyes and her aggressive kindnesses, because she was alone now, well and truly.

(He did not know that Han had left so soon after Luke that Leia spent five years remembering how to trust again, that she had been alone and then found people to love again. He didn't know about Poe and his boyish charm or Holdo and the way she fit against Leia so much differently than Han ever had. He didn't know that when Han died she had screamed with every shred of force had Anakin gifted her for her brother to _respond_ , and that when he did not she had been surrounded by friends who held her anyway)

He remembered that when Ben died it had been like the whole world dimmed, his untamed senses still only tuned to the people he loved most.

He hated that Han left without a whisper. That he died and the world didn't dim. That he died and Luke _didn't know_.

(If he had bothered to ask, he would have learned that someone had felt the world dim. Rey, as much a Skywalker as Leia's son, knew exactly what Luke felt that day on the Death Star. Rey had felt the world tilt, darken, fall, beneath the weight of the closest thing to a father she'd ever known)

He coughed to an exhausted stop, the storm within him quieting, and he remembered suddenly and with complete clarity what Han had felt like through the force. He remembered that Leia had felt like packed snow, that Han had sounded through the force like a breeze, that even at his worst little Ben had radiated emotion like Tattooine's brightest star. He remembered that even R2 and 3PO had been points of light twined around each other, and with his hand on R2's scorched and rusted casing, the world suddenly felt empty.

He remembered what it was to  _feel_ , and he opened his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's sort of a rewrite, sort of a "I was too lazy to look up the exact dialogue of the scene."
> 
> I also did not beta this so I'm sorry but also I'm tired.


End file.
